The Tyrant Bleeds [Invite Only]

[Yamantau Em]

“Yeah, I gave the orders [laughing], and you should have seen their stupid little fucking faces when the gas hit them. [Ironhorse continues to laugh] It was like watching the realization hit them, that they were going die, right then, right there, and finally get to meet God. Except…I'm the only fucking God on this mountaintop.”


-Transcript of Carolus Ironhorse interrogation, dated April 29, 2045.



Rafhazan, 2024


The smell of charred flesh hung in the air, accented by the acrid smell of mercaptan. Other than the roaring flames and crackling of wood and steel, the only sound in Kadirabad was that of Ephyran boots as they trampled over dirt, debris, glass, and bone alike. Qasim held the gas mask tight to his face, too large to stay on by itself, he desperately pushed it against his skin as the gas continued to spread. He tried his best not to look at the dead RDF Captain that had forced the mask over his head in the first place. The Ephyrans didn't care who they hit, friend or foe. He could hear footsteps drawing closer, so he simply buried his face into his mother's skirt and laid as still as he could. Little Qasim could hear the radio chatter drawing ever nearer, strange accents screaming. He knew just enough Mercanti to understand they were angry with the Ephyrans.


“Turn that fucking thing off.” One of the nearby men ordered, his voice obscured by the lens of his mask. Whoever he was talking to quickly complied.


“Great Khan, the men are not finding anything on the far side of town. Abass likely is not here.” another voice reported after some hasty footsteps approached.


“Then torch what's left of this place, move on to Al-Hazred, hit them with another barrage from Golf-niner-three, see if we can flush that little peckerhead out of his hidey hole.” the original voice answered.


“Khan Ironhorse, the Iterians are demanding we cease firing…” the second voice chimed back in.


A tense moment of silence passed before a single shot rang out, and the dull thud of a body hitting the ground reverberated off the buildings in the tight alley.


“I don't remember asking the opinion of my interiors.” Ironhorse hissed coldly. Qasim could just faintly hear the remaining soldier get on his radio and slowly read out a series of numbers that must have been coordinates.


“Ricky tick, Geldern.” Ironhorse drawled, his voice fading away. Qasim figured he must have been walking away.


Qasim laid face down for what felt like hours, waiting until there was only silence before crawling from the pile of his dead countrymen and looking around.


It was carnage.


The initial bombardment had almost leveled the neighborhood, and the streets had been filled with fleeing people when they dropped the gas. Qasim began to walk slowly down the street, stepping over the corpses. Their lips were an awful blue and their bloodshot eyes seemed to bulge from their heads. He chose instead to focus ahead, to get out of this terrible place. He could see the RDF soldiers that had been trying to direct people to safety lying dead at the end of the street, still clutching their weapons. As he neared, he could see they had been shot, but still showed the effects of the gas. Perhaps they had been shot out of mercy, or maybe the Ephyrans were just that cruel.


He fumbled at the snap on one of the soldiers holsters, and delicately drew his pistol. He had no real idea how to use it, but he took it regardless. He struggled looked it over, before gripping it tight and moving on. He had to keep moving.


Qasim had no idea where to go, but simply wandered from street to street, seeing that it was just more of the same scene. He wondered if anyone had survived. Eventually came to the far end of town, where it seemed the only building that wasn't too badly damaged was the Masjid. He cautiously approached the doors, peeking inside, only to find it dark, and quiet. He ducked inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He made it about halfway across the great empty floor before falling to his knees. He could feel the hot tears sting his eyes before the began to flow down his cheeks, cutting trails through the dust and blood caked to his face. He did the only thing he could, he touched his head to cold stone and prayed.


The gentle crunch of stone on stone made him snap back up and grab for the pistol. He scrambled way as he swung the weapon around and aimed it at a figure in the shadows. A very large figure.


An Ephyran woman moved slowly from the shadows, her hands raised to chest height with her rifle slung across her back.


“Its OK, kiddo. I won't hurt you.” she assured him.


“Ssss..stay back, djinn!” Qasim blurted, his Mercanti was choppy, but he knew enough to get by.


The woman still advanced toward him, her eyes mournful as she approached.


“Its ok, I promise, I won't touch you.” she continued softly.


Qasim pointed the pistol at her chest and tried to squeeze the trigger, but nothing happened. He tried again as she got closer, still nothing. He tried over and over again as she got closer, until she was only a couple feet away.


The woman reached out and pulled the gun from his hands. She looked it over and flicked the safety off, before chambering a round.


“I'll make you a deal. I won't hurt you, I'll even give you this back, but you need to tell me what you're doing here, and who you are, ok?” she asked, before holding the pistol back out to him, holding it by the barrel.


Qasim considered for a moment before choking back some tears, and nodding.


“My n-name, i-is Qasim, I am f-five. I c-came here to hide.” he stammered.


The woman nodded and handed him back the pistol.


“My name is Cora, I'm a medic. I want to help.” she told him, pointing to the green emblem on her plate carrier, that designated her as a combat medic with the Ekspedisjonsstryker.


“You're here to kill us!” Qasim cried out as he slowly crawled back away from her.


He could see her doing something strange with her face, as if trying not to cry.


She slowly reached up to her radio and said something in a language Qasim didn't understand. She was having a conversation with someone, and she seemed tense. There was a moment of silence between her and whoever she was talking to, before the man on the other end of the radio came back and his response seemed to soothe her.


She turned her attention back to Qasim, and took a deep breath.


“My friends are coming to help too. They want us to meet them outside when you're ready.” she told him.


“Why?” Qasim asked, the tears starting to choke him again.


“Because some of us are good. Some of us don't like this.” she replied sadly.


“You won't hurt me?” Qasim asked.


“No, kiddo, nobody will hurt you now, the bad guys are gone.” she assured him.


“Promise?” he asked sheepishly.


“I do. I promise you, nobody will hurt you now.” she said calmly. “Come here, let me look at you.” she continued, as she sat cross legged on the floor, swinging her bag from her shoulder.


Qasim cautiously approached until he stood right in front of her.


“Sit. I'm going to make sure you're ok first, alright? Then I'm gonna clean you up a little bit.” she told him. Qasim did as told, Sitting in front of her. She pushed the bag in front of him and opened it. She pulled out a bottle of water and an MRE, which she quickly handed over to him. “Only little bites and sips at a time, ok?”


Qasim nodded and took a sip of the water, trying to clear the dust from his mouth as Cora got into a kneeling position and began to look him over. The MRE was full of dried fruits and nuts, which he didn't much care for, but it was nice to have some food. Cora sat back and watched him eat the remaining contents of the bag, and slowly drink the rest of the water after she had finished her quick visual exam.


“Does it hurt to breathe or talk?” she asked him.


He shook his head as he examined her. She was younger than most of the Ephyrans he had seen, at least he thought she was, and she had more tattoos than most of them.


“What are your pictures for?” he asked, pointing to a raven on the back of her hand.


“They say who we are, where we're from.” she explained, taking a wipe from her bag, and holding it up to Qasim's face, gently clearing the dust and blood from his eyes, nose, and mouth, he could get cleaned up better later.


“Do you forget where you're from?” Qasim asked, still confused as to the purpose of the tattoos.


She feigned a smile. “Apparently some of us do.” she answered.


Qasim giggled, which brought a true smile to her. Her lilting laughter made Qasim giggle again before he went quiet.


“Is there anyone else?” he asked.


“In here?” she asked, before shaking her head.


“No. Outside. Is anyone else being helped?” he asked hopefully, pointing to the door.


She paused for a moment. “Maybe, I don't know for sure.” she lied. She knew that this poor kid was the current sole citizen of Kadirabad, but he didn't have to.


They both looked toward the door as the rumble of an engine approached, followed by footsteps.


Qasim, shuffled forward and grabbed at Cora's pant leg. Burying his face into her plate carrier. She held him against her with one arm while she reached for her radio with the free hand. Another brief exchange in a language he didn't understand, and the door of the Masjid slowly swung open, and two unarmed men entered. She pointed to her bag, which one of the men quickly grabbed, while the other seemed to keep watch at the door.


“We're going somewhere safe now, ok?” Cora assured Qasim, picking him up as she stood, his little arms working their way around her neck. He whimpered as they neared the door, so she rubbed his back and shushed him, trying to console him.


“Close your eyes for a second.” she told him as they exited the building. He did as she asked, feeling her slowly climb something. The next thing he knew, he could feel the vehicle moving as Cora held him. He kept his head on her shoulder as she held him, and looked out the window. He could see the plumes of smoke in the distance, he could hear the artillery firing, but it all faded as he surrendered to the exhaustion and fell asleep in her arms.


2046, Ephyra


Qasim shifted in his seat as the interviewer went back over the notes.


“So..what happened to Cora?” the interviewer finally asked.


Qasim shifted his gaze downwards and took a breath.


“My mom died about three years ago. She was caught in the crossfire between the Khanate troops and the Szubrov boy’s people.”


“You mean Khelani Ironhorse?” the interviewer tried to correct him.


“No, I mean Khelani Szubrov. He would never endure the shame of bearing his father's name.” Qasim asserted.


“Very well. Tell me, have you had any contact with Carolus Ironhorse since his capture by Prydanian forces?” the portly little man asked.


“No. Why would I do that?” Qasim asked, almost dumbstruck.


“Would you like the opportunity to confront him?”


Qasim paused for a second.


“Yes. I would have many questions for him."

 

[Yamantau Em]

“Was I there? Yeah, he's my son. Alara took it like a champ when I first told her the truth, and y'know, she grew to love him. Couldn't leave the kid with his psycho bitch mom, so we raised him back in Ephyra. He was the one that reached out to Sophija, then he disobeyed me and snuck off back to Yamantau, little shit. Now both of them are just fucking deranged.”


-Transcript of Ironhorse Interrogation tape, May 8, 2045


Yamantau, 2042


Sophija watched as Khelani stepped onto the plane, duffle bag in hand. He took one last moment to look back and give her a gentle smile. She returned it with a slight wave. He had come back into her life about two years prior, an awkward sixteen year old that looked like his father, but had Alara's sensibilities. They had both been greatly saddened by Alara's passing six months prior, but they were also relieved that Carolus couldn't hurt her anymore.


As Khelani disappeared from view, Sophija straighted her jacket and turned back towards the waiting car. Her driver, a tall man named Viktor, held the door open for her. Sophija's daughter, Katerina, gave her a toothy grin as she climbed in.


“Is Khelani coming?!” Katerina asked eagerly, looking out the door. The smile dropped as Sophija gently shook her head with a tearful smile.


“No, sweet girl. Your brother is going home for a while to make things right with his father.” she seemed to contemplate how to word it.


“Well I hope he comes back soon!” Katerina exclaimed.


“He said he'll call when he can.” Sophija assured her.


Katerina had grown quite fond of Khelani, he always made time for her when he was not off with Sophija. The truth though, was that Sophija didn't expect to see Khelani alive again, unless he succeeded in his lofty ambitions. He planned to kill his father.


Sophija hadn't had much contact with Carolus, the last time they were even in the same room together was when he came to take Khelani on his fifth birthday. She often saw him on the news though, openly taunting the A.N. about his crimes in Rafhazan, Yamantau, and Ephyra. He was little more than a fanatical cult leader at this point, but the devotion of his followers stemmed from terror. Not love, not respect, but pure terror.


Katerina quietly read her books as they drove. Sophija looked out the window as they passed back into Tagtaryeva, the scars of Carolus Ironhorse still ever present. When the people rebeled in 2027, it took Carolus and his men only seventeen hours to crush it out. Sophija could still remember watching the plane fly over as it lined up for the bombing run, she could still feel that same drop in her chest when she thought about it. Napalm and cluster munitions used on civilians, any escape routes for the protestors were turned into killboxes with intersecting fields of fire.


And oh how he laughed.


That was when Sophija drove him out. Carolus returned to Ephyra, and became a tyrant. All who disobeyed or voiced dissent were crushed, both metaphorically and in some cases literally. Sophija wept for the loss of her son for months, and even now her heart ached to see him go again.


“Is Papa meeting us at the house?” Katerina interrupted Sophija's reminiscing.


“I believe so, my sweet.” she smiled.


Misha. He had become her rock. From a moron boy to Tzar of Yamantau. He was a man of the people, and it was truly him that had begun to fix the damage the Szubrovs had done. He never brought up the poor decisions Sophija had made in her youth, he never expressed frustration for the opposition he faced as he helped forge the future of Yamantau. He never had anything but kind words and loving hands for her and the children. He was a good man.


Sophija reached up and felt along the scar that Carolus had left across her right cheek, still as jagged and pronounced as ever, a reminder of the savage beating he had given her after Khelani's birth, when she tried to tell Alara of the boy's true parentage. She held no bitterness for Alara, she had never truly known the monster she so desperately clung to until it was too late.


Sophija had simply told Katerina and the boys that Alara had passed away, she didn't have the heart to tell them that Alara had taken her own life when she couldn't bear the weight of what Carolus had done anymore. She had endured so many years of being beaten, violated, and degraded, and just couldn't take it anymore.


Sophija drummed her fingers on her clutch purse as she refocused on the world around them. She couldn't deny that life had been easier since the Ironhorse family left, but she still thought fondly of the early days, before everything went to shit.


Ephyra, 2042, Three Weeks Later


“Maybe we could ask Uncle Toby for help.” Khelani suggested, taking a drag from his cigarette.


Johann simply laughed.


“If Uncle Toby steps in, Carolus drops the bombs. If the A.N. steps in, Carolus drops the bombs. If he burns, we burn with him, and the mountain tribes already have him nervous enough. I have no idea how you plan to get to him either. Argaz is on lockdown twenty-four seven, they got choppers doing sweeps of the woods with the FLIR shit, he's got Fahz and his merry band of psychos skulking around closer to the actual compound, and that fucking drone that just constantly circles.” Johann tried to explain.


“He got tunnels?” Khelani asked after pondering the previous information.


Johann stared at him blankly before letting out a deep sigh and sitting back in his chair.


“Yeah, he's got tunnels. They go from the palace to Argaz, then from Argaz to the port. Tunnels are patrolled by at least forty guys at a time. He's literally entrenched, dude. Alara's people tried to hit it right after she killed herself and her old man led like a hundred people right to their deaths. I-it was a massacre dude.” Johann continued to try and talk Khelani down.


“You know anyone else that would have an interest in seeing him gone?” Khelani continued to ignore Johann's warnings.


Johann looked at him dumbstruck before motioning out the window wildly.

“Yes! What? What the fuck are you…the entire population dude! Not a single jadeskinned soul wants to see him in power anymore!” he exclaimed in frustration.


“Ok, settle down big man. Give me specific names.” Khelani snapped.


Johann rolled his eyes and pushed his chair back to his computer desk. He quickly clicked through a myriad of folders within folders before typing in a few commands and hastily inspecting a document that had appeared on screen, before jotting down a bunch of names and addresses. He clutched the paper for a moment before wheeling back over to Khelani and holding out the paper. When Khelani reached for it Johann quickly pulled it back.


“If you get caught, eat the paper.” Johann ordered.


Khelani snatched the paper and sighed, looking over the names. He recognized a handful, and some were surprising.


“The Caliph? Really?” Khelani asked, twisting up his face.


“Yea, Sayed might be absolutely decrepit, but fuck does he hate our father.” Johann remarked. “If you go to Raf, go under a Yamanta passport, since him and Soph are still pretty chill apparently.”


“Yeah, no, they are. I've seen him at the palace but he never really spoke with me.” Khelani told him.


“Well, that should probably be your first step. He'll likely fund this.” Johann said as he pushed himself back towards the computer. “While you're at it, you should probably hit up Mattias down at the docks, he can introduce you to Cora, she's like third down the list. Used to be a combat medic, now she's holed up in the mountains with her folks somewhere.”


Khelani rose to his feet and tucked the paper into his hoodie pocket. “Thanks little brother. Whats the likelihood you could get ahold of Sayed directly?” he asked.


“Pffft, yeah, I just have to mask it as a direct communique from Yamantau, he'll likely open that up pretty fast.” Johann scoffed, as if this was a routine matter.


“Ok, well, let's get it done then.” Khelani grinned, leaning over Johann's shoulder as he watched him work.

 

[Prydania]

2044
1:02 pm
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Pieter Bruyn felt like he was on pins and needles. What was about to be discussed could potentially be very messy. Hell, it already kind of was. The King had already summoned him to explain the situation and that was months ago. Pieter’s hope was that things would have gotten better by now, that the AN sanctions would have worked, but that fokking Euphyrian idiot was now lashing out and it had to be dealt with.

“Herra Prime Minister, welcome.”

Pieter smiled and entered the room, giving Tobias a brief respectful bow before the King offered his hand to shake.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I wish we didn't have to be here over this," the Prime Minister replied in Prydanian, though his Bayardi accent was noticeable. Tobias- who himself seemed uneasy- sat down at his desk and motioned for Pieter to sit next to Field Marshal Kolfinn Folland, Chairman of the Armed Forces Council.

“So we’re here,” Tobias said, a bit gloomy.

“Regrettably, já,” Pieter replied.
“But Carolus has to be stopped.”

Tobias sighed softly and tapped his fingers on his desk. He'd considered Carolus a friend once. Maybe on some level he still was, but he’d extended the last bit of goodwill he was capable of with him by pushing for another round of AN sanctions. Hoping maybe… maybe… he'd get the point.

Kolfinn said nothing. And would say nothing. His job was to lead the armed forces and he didn't do anything without a word from the King. The King was commander in chief, not the Prime Minister. However much he acted like it.

“We’ve been in contact with Ephyrians who are ready to oust him. We won't be going in alone and God willing we’ll be met by allies and not enemies when our troops land.”

It was here that Kolfinn broke his own promise to stay quiet until the King gave an order.
“That's all well good Prime Minister, but in my experience the only people who think that are politicians secretly hoping life gives them an easy go of it. You want to land Prydanian soldiers in a foreign country. Even if we have friends there, there will be those Ephyrians who will shoot at us. It’s been twenty-five since we adopted our current defensive operational doctrine.”

“I don't mean to imply it will be easy but…”

“I know what you're implying but I’m telling you what the realities are and…”

“Please let's not do this again,” Tobias signed as he finally stopped tapping his desk.
“The Ephyrians aren't our enemy. They've been friends for over a thousand years and they fought by our side during the Civil War. I don't want an invasion. Not in full.”

“Your Majesty,” Pieter began, “we have an AN mandate to bring Carolus in.”

“We could send in the Jægars,” Kolfinn suggested.
“Elite troops. The Prime Minister is right and we have Ephyrian factions that will aid us, so we can use an Ephyran port to run an operation out of and use air bases in Stormurholmr to provide support. You don't want to invade Ephyria Your Majesty, and I respect that. But a highly trained, elite force with local allies could bring him in.”

Tobias leaned back a bit as he thought over the notion. Truth was he was uneasy about sending people to die… but this situation had grown beyond hopeful thinking.
“Have you gotten the intelligence I asked for?” he asked Kolfiinn. The Field Marshal nodded and produced aerial photographs of Carolus’ compound.

“The bulk of his most loyal troops have been moved around here,” Kolfinn responded.

“He's spiralling,” Pieter muttered. He recognized it from the Civil War. When the mood started to truly sour on the Syndicalists the local party strongman would end up retreating to HQ surrounded by People’s Militia. It happened everywhere. It was a sign that the strongman no longer trusted the public.

“I’d concur,” Kolfinn replied.
“But, Prime Minister, we need political support on the ground. We need local allies both to aid our troops and declare Carolus illegitimate on behalf of the Ephyrian people.”

“We believe we have that,” Pierter replied.

“Then do it,” Tobias said softly. That was it. He was left with no choice.

“Field Marshal, Prime Minister, you have my authorization to organize a Jægar strike force into Eypharia to bring Carolus to justice. Whenever a finalized plan has been agreed to, bring it to me.”

“Your Majesty,” Kolfiinn saluted as he stood, and Tobias stood to offer one back.

“Your Majesty,” Pieter followed up with, offering a handshake. Which Tobias returned.

He watched them leave, not exactly a harmonious pairing. But it was what it was. He walked over to the couches on the other end of his office and laid down, sighing.

He wasn't sad really, he'd been mentally preparing for this for years. Carolus had made it increasingly hard for the international community to tolerate him. And if it came down to this to remove him? So be it.